I was reading a piece at La Sportiva Mountain Running and it brought to mind my own experience at Golden Hills. As hard as it was then, it seems like it would be impossible now. When I was finished reading “pantilac’s” article i went into the archives and found the piece below. Better than I remembered it being, it also told me to stop thinking about “can’t”, to start thinking again about “can and will” and to lace up and get out the door. Inspiration is where you find it I guess.

October 16, 2005

I wrote what follows as a kind of report on the race for my running buddies. Going out now to look at Ipod Nano’s which I swore I would buy for myself if I ever crossed the finish line. I like the black ones…

The Golden Hills Trail Marathon 2005

or, it’s soooo beautiful … will this race EVER frickin end?

Yesterday’s Golden Hills Trail Marathon was the toughest ever for me. Toughest race, toughest run. All hills, no flats, including the five mile uphill from the start, the numerous valley descents followed by the numerous, Oh god not another one ascents and the extraordinary beauty of the redwoods and the burnt brown summer hills in the distance. All redwood and pine, endless valley hillside vistas, and up and down. Unbelievably beautiful and not so easy to run, at least for me. The winner of the fifty mile did it in seven hours so maybe he found it more to his liking or maybe he is a creature from another universe…I quit half a dozen times including going to one of the race people at 15 miles and telling them I was out of the run. There were no cars to get me to the finish so I had to walk to the next aid station where there would be cars. I walked, ran with a 75 year old veteran of 200 ultras and marathons, Dick Laine. He had dropped out of the fifty miler at 42 miles and had to walk to the lake to get home. Dick has that “spirit”, youthful and alive, aware of the possibilities that things would change as they always have and that he would be there with them so long as kept putting one foot in front of the other. He agreed with me that dropping out was ok, calling it a good training run and getting on to the next. At the next aid station there was a tall thin guy named Ken who asked me what was wrong, so I told him about the cramps and the spasms and the throwing up and then I started to tell him about the bad stuff. He looked at me and said, have one these potatoes with some of that salt and drink some and see how you feel. He walked with me a moment and said, that will take care of the cramps, here are some salt pills with stuff, some advil and don’t stop moving around until you decide to drop out! I asked how far to the end he told me it was nine miles. As I turned to go I heard him say run a little, walk a little, or more if you have to and have some more potato and salt at the next station. And drink. And then he smiled broadly, nodded his head, gave the runner finger waggle salute.

I heard him tell another volunteer to call in and say that 528 was back in the race. It wasn’t easy from there but it worked out.
I met Dick again on the trail, (could not figure out why he was there and not at the lake… and wound up helping him get down a particularly steep descent. His leg had stiffened up so badly that he nearly fell with nearly every step. He put his hand on my shoulder and we got down the hill. I asked him if he needed me to stay with him and said, no Michael, I’ll make it from here. Good to see you back in the run. Go get it kid! I hit it as hard as I could then and laughed out loud. Kid!

I finished in some ungodly slow time(I shut my watch off at 6:30) but I ran it in at the end, wasn’t the last runner on the course, either the marathon or the fifty, and got the congratulations of the folks who had been out there on the day. Got the coffee mug. Got the tee shirt. I realized on the drive home that Dick, who had won his age division(60+) at the 1990 Western States, had not quit either, that life was what you made of it, and that he would finish and go home and start again today, despite saying earlier on that he had got to the end of the running thing, that this was likely his last go round. I am just now feeling the accomplishment and of course the pain. Ken (maybe Ken Gregorio) turns out to be maybe a big time ultra runner, a hero to a lot of people I was told when I asked. Could be, he seemed to know, to be part of it in a fundamental way. He doesn’t know my story but he added something of value to it … the right guy at the right time with the right stuff, he gave me what was needed and acknowledged without words, by demeanor and action, that I wasn’t too old, too tired, too wore out with the all and everything of life in addiction; that recovery, one foot in front of the other and the help of some good people would make the difference. I don’t think the race was a parable per se but…

It’s tomorrow now, my legs are sore, my insides a jumble and I could use another two days of sleep. On the other hand the sun is coming up over the western ridge of the Santa Cruz Mountains and the waves are breaking big down on the beach and I am lacing up my shoes for a walk in the brand new morning. Can’t beat it, no how, no way.